Author's Note: Go me and random forgotten stories!

Chapter Three: Suspicion

There are certain places where time seems to pool together and linger, becoming stale and fixed in place. It sunk into the land, and in time was overcome by the outside world. Whiskey in the Jar was that sort of place. Surrounded by cement and ironwork, the Antiques shop had a faux woodwork guise and the name was painted in fine gold calligraphy over the entrance. The windows were clouded, and cluttered with heavy furniture and dulling jewels. Two old hounds tied by a leash to the store slept on the sidewalk. When Vaughan Rice walked up to them, one on the left reared up his head and stared at him for a time with his drooping brown eyes.
Then, the dog moaned in a morose tinny voice before lowering his head again and going back to bed.

Rolling his eyes, Vaughan pushed open the door, ignoring the pleasant tinkle of bells over head, and stepped into a hallway with dozen of Vaughans staring back at him. Dozen of mirrors of every shape and make littered the narrow hall. As a matter of fact, Vaughan's usual business rarely afforded him visits to places with mirrors and surprisingly, it threw him off guard. Fixing his face with his best nondescript seriousness and walked further into the antique store.

There were lots of old chairs and wardrobes. Clusters of sixties-style clothing were dumped one on another as if the owner had yet to shift and sort through each piece. More mirrors glistened from the vanity tables. Gloves hung from silver bowls. Crosses and religious paintings with their saints turned upward to heaven decked the walls near the ceilings. Scarves and hats sat nestled on top of counters. Somewhere from an old radio Frank Sinatra crooned about love and lost.

"Charlie, is that you?" Sang a voice from the back. Vaughan heard footsteps crawling downstairs and a moment later, a man appeared on the staircase near the back of the store.

The man took in Vaughan and smiled. He was tall and pale. His smile glistened in the darkness of the store but did nothing to diminish the bright intelligent blue eyes that fixed on Vaughan and didn't seem to blink. The man had a crop of auburn hair, slightly curled and coiffed around his face, invoking a decidedly old movie star grace or style to his actions. He turned, and slumped the box he was carrying unto the near desk and motioned for Vaughan to come nearer.

"Forgive me, I thought you were Charles. I'm Colm. Welcome to Whiskey in the Jar."

"I'm looking for Olivia Farrell."

"My mother." Colm supplied, laughing a little. "She's having lunch with someone right now. Could I be of service Mister…"

"You're Colm Farrell. A coin collector and appraiser for Bonham's."

Another trickle of laughter. "Now I know you know mother. She's always embellishing my work. Bonham's has asked for my input only twice, and the purchases I made for the company were through a private contractor. I'm afraid all I do is show, and speak. I have no money for the games they play." Colm inclined his head. "Are you interested in coins?"

"I'm not here to buy."

"But you wish to speak to my mother? Here to sell, then." Colm nodded. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"It wasn't offered." Vaughan shrugged, taking in the store. Already he could feel something off about the store, though it wasn't so much sinister as just…old. Hidden. He turned back to find Colm's cool, unaffected eyes still set on Vaughan. "I represent a private party. They're interested in your operation here."

"Operation?" Another laugh, this one more insulting then Vaughan would like. He stood a little straighter, and was pleased to see Colm stiffen and retreat. Colm swallowed. "I'm afraid you're considering us a little more high class then we are. My mother is an expert in her field, yes. My brother and I can hold our own in some of the circles but we mainly deal with the day to day purchases." Colm made a sweeping motion. "We just talk big. I handle coins, my mother knows house wares. We hardly have anything to show for it. What is it that your employer is looking for?"

"Your brother…what's his specialty?"

"Philip?"

Vaughan sensed the hesitation.

Colm appeared undeterred. "He reads people. If you are uncertain of the trustworthiness of a person, Philip…knows things. Would you like to meet him?"

"Yeah I would."

"Some other time. He's resting now." Colm's brilliant smile flashed, and then a hand began to motion to a desk set. "Feel free to leave your name and number and I'll be more then pleased to tell mother you were looking for her and Philip." The smile remained fixed and suddenly Vaughan realized he smiled a fox smiled. His distaste grew exponentially from there. "Perhaps we could arrange a meeting. I would so love to see us all in a room together."

The store was almost pitch black when Olivia walked in, tripping over the dogs as she went and giggling softly. She'd had too much wine. Her stomach hurt. Her head was dizzy and there was a grin that had been on her face since lunch. The dizziness was half butterflies, and half upset stomach. The Italian food hadn't settled (not that she was that surprised) but still, not even hugging the throne for the rest of the evening couldn't have crushed her mood.

There was a thin low growl in the darkness that made her swing about just as the lights clicked on.

Colm was sitting in her wicker chair at the desk. As usual, his suit was immaculate and bright like stripped bone, and those devious blue eyes he had gotten from his father were hidden under a pair of expensive glasses. He peered up at her over the rims. "Did we enjoy ourselves, mother dearest?"

Olivia felt her arms go cold. "I didn't see your car." She swallowed and ran a hand over her face as if it could tear the smile away even though Colm's unflinching gaze had already succeeded. "Where's Philip?"

"A little birdie told me you took the priest to lunch, and then to a museum. You've become awfully chummy with a man sworn to celibacy."

Olivia made a point of ignoring his eyes as she passed, and she tapped his shoes from her desk as she sat down. It was then she noticed Philip, crouched on the chair, with his feet on the cushion, and his hands cropped over the knees. Her youngest son was by far more interested in the designs of the woodwork to care much for his mother's actions.

Philip was stocky and blond. His hair was curly, worn long about his face. He wore long white tunics and brown trousers with no shoes. The tunic was splattered with clay and his fingernails were dirty. He would begin to chew on his fingernail for a moment and then seem to think better of it, before ignoring that habit to move on to something else. His honeyed eyes darted from place to place nervously before he felt Olivia's eyes on him. He looked up and smiled. Olivia smiled easily into his wide, blank brown eyes. "Hello, Philip. Have you eaten, lovely?"

"Colm took me to the park."

"The priest." Colm returned.

"Is none of your business." She continued.

"Mother," Colm began softly as he stood. "Are you attracted to this man?"

Philip frowned a little and slipped out of the chair, to follow his brother. Reaching over, he wrapped his arms around his brother: one arm under the arm and to the shoulder with the other attached to his waist and pushed his cheek against Colm's back. Olivia watched him and felt tired.

"Not attracted." Philip mewed. "She knows. Mother knows. Don't you, mother?"

Olivia leaned back. Her fingers still held the memory of Pearse's hand in hers. "I know."

"I've worked too hard to have you lose sight now." Colm warned. "There's too much at sake for your whim."

"I told you…I'd do what you wanted, Colm. Do not speak to me as a child."

"Do not forget what is at stake here."

Olivia reached her hand out as if to touch Philip's hair, eyes watching her younger son desperately. Colm smiled at this and leaned back, bracing his brother closer to him and drawing a finger across his jaw line and down to his neck. He smiled at her. Olivia swallowed and relaxed. "I haven't forgotten. I'll get it done." She told him. "Just…tell your friends to be ready."